The Dealer

by Robert Muchamore

  “We’re sorry, an inventory tag has been left on your item. Please return to the store. We’re sorry, an inventory . . .”

  The guard took hold of James and tried to drag him into the shop. Junior could have kept his head down and nobody would have been able to prove he was involved, so James was impressed when he charged towards the security guard and punched him in the side of the head. James kneed the guard in the stomach and started running, with Junior a few paces behind.

  The security guard in the store opposite had seen the whole show and came after them. When James glanced back over his shoulder, the guard was shouting into his walkie-talkie, requesting back-up.

  “You tit,” Junior shouted, as shoppers dived out of their way. “What a great plan.”

  James couldn’t work out what he’d done wrong. Two security guards came out of a department store up ahead, blocking their path and forcing them to cut into a women’s clothing store. A woman with a buggy went flying into a display of leggings as James crashed into her. The store was crammed with rails of clothing that brushed against James as he ran. Junior stumbled. One of the security guards got a hand on him, but he spun away and recovered his balance.

  James burst out of the fire exit at the back of the shop, setting off another alarm. He’d hoped the door would lead out on to the street, but he’d emerged into the central concourse of the shopping centre. There was big fountain and a stand where they did temporary exhibitions. The yellow banner hanging over the exhibition stand sent James into shock:

  BEDFORDSHIRE POLICE THEFT PREVENTION SQUAD. FIND OUT HOW TO PROTECT YOUR HOME AND CAR FROM CRIME.

  There was a long fold-out table, with three policemen behind it handing out crime prevention leaflets.

  “Holy shit,” Junior gasped, stopping in his tracks.

  With the police up ahead and security guards behind, their chances looked about nil. James considered surrendering, but Junior noticed a door with a toilet sign a few meters away and barged it open. He led James down a narrow corridor, with six pairs of men’s shoes clattering after them. They passed the entrance to the ladies’ toilet and crashed through a fire door, into the dim confines of a multistory car park.

  They sped towards the lift, but there was no time to wait for it. Instead, they scrambled on to the staircase and ran down, leaping three steps at a time, fueled by adrenalin. James twisted his ankle, but he didn’t have time to think about the pain, or the fact that if he tumbled he’d smash his head open on bare concrete.

  The policemen were more cautious on the stairs and the boys had gained ground by the time they booted open a set of doors that led into a sunlit alley. There were massive steel bins and boxes of rubbish piled around them. They clambered over everything, reaching the front of the shopping center as the police emerged through the doors at the bottom of the stairs. The security guards had given up.

  There was a pedestrian crossing, with two lanes of waiting traffic. James saw the green man flashing and they made a dash for it. They ran into the outdoor car park, crouching low and jogging between the bumpers of two lines of parked cars.

  The police got stranded on the other side of the road, waiting for the lights to change. One cop tried to stop the traffic with a hand signal and nearly got splattered by a motorbike. By the time the cops had halted the traffic and made it across, James and Junior were crouching behind a car a hundred meters away.

  The three cops stood on the pavement by the car park, staring hopelessly at row after row of parked cars. The boys kept low until they came to the far side of the car park. They pushed themselves through shrubs, emerging on to the narrow pavement beside a fast-moving dual carriageway. Junior started to run.

  “WHOA,” James said. “Keep cool.”

  Junior turned around. “What?”

  “Walk,” James said. “It looks less dodgy if we’re spotted.”

  They walked nervously for twenty minutes, looking back over their shoulders and having miniature heart attacks every time they spotted a white car. When they noticed a bus coming, they sprinted to the stop and hopped on. They went upstairs and sat at the back, well away from the other passengers. James finally felt safe.

  “Sorry about that,” he said breathlessly. “You’re not pissed off with me, are you?”

  Junior burst out laughing. “That was mental. The look on those cops’ faces when we lost ’em. Oh man . . .”

  “I’m an idiot,” James said. “You know what I did? When I put the games in, I must have pushed the foil down the bag so it wasn’t covering them over.”

  “Who cares now?” Junior grinned. “Gimme, gimme, gimme.”

  James unzipped his pack and pulled out nine PlayStation games. Junior read out the price stickers.

  “Forty, forty, twenty-five, thirty-five. How much is that?”

  “A hundred and forty.”

  “Thirty-eight, twenty-four, and three at thirty- five.”

  “Three hundred and seven quid,” James said.

  “You add fast,” Junior said. “Over three hundred quid’s worth of games. That’s so cool, we’ve got to do it again some time.”

  “I dunno,” James said. “I’m not sure if my underwear can take the strain.”

  • • •

  “You’re late, James,” Zara said. “Dinner’s nearly ready.”

  Kerry and Kyle were sitting at the kitchen table while Zara did frozen lasagna in the oven.

  “Sorry,” James said.

  “You could have rung us,” Zara said. “We were all worried.”

  Kerry looked up. “Where were you? I didn’t see you at lunchtime.”

  “I was around,” James said, defensively.

  “So, how was school?” Zara asked.

  “Oh, you know,” James shrugged. “Same old, same old. Boring as hell.”

  Zara wouldn’t have minded that he’d bunked off with Junior, but James didn’t want her to find out about the shoplifting and the chase. If cherubs steal something, or make money while they’re on a mission, they’re supposed either to return the goods or donate them to charity. James had no plans to give away five top PlayStation games after going through so much exertion stealing them.

  “How did you get along with Junior?” Zara asked.

  “Really good,” James said. “He’s my sort of person. I reckon we would have ended up mates even if I hadn’t tried. Where’s Nicole?”

  “Doing homework with April Moore and a bunch of other girls,” Kyle said.

  “Wow,” James smiled. “She’s a fast worker. How did you two get on with your targets?”

  “Erin Moore and her weird friends chucked paper at me and started calling me ‘peg-leg’ because of my limp,” Kerry said miserably.

  “Ringo’s a swot,” Kyle said. “Nice kid, taking his GCSEs very seriously. The thing is, I reckon he’s too straight to be involved in his dad’s drug business.”

  “James,” Kerry said, “why’s there tinfoil sticking out of your backpack?”

  “What?” James gasped.

  Kerry leaned towards the pack. James whipped it away before she got a chance to see inside.

  “You’ve been up to something,” Kerry grinned. “What’s in there?”

  “Nothing,” James said, jumping up from the table. “I better go and um . . . I’ll give Lauren a call before dinner’s ready.”

  Kyle and Kerry exchanged looks as James thumped upstairs to his room.

  “Tinfoil?” Kerry whispered, not wanting Zara to hear.

  “Don’t ask me,” Kyle shrugged. “But he’s been up to something, that’s for sure.”

  * * *

  I. The author of this book would like to point out that the shoplifting technique described here only works with certain outdated security systems. I’ve got no intention of telling you which ones they are because I don’t want angry dads turning up on my doorstep and kicking my head in because their little darling just got busted trying to nick something from a shop.

  Chapter 10

 
; PUNCH

  It was Friday, after school. James, Kyle, Kerry, and Nicole sat on the living room couches in their school uniforms, drinking cans of Coke. The TV was on but nobody was watching.

  James looked at Kyle. “I’m going boxing tonight with Junior. You wanna come?”

  “You in a boxing ring,” Kerry giggled. “That’s something I’d pay money to see.”

  James clucked. “It’s training, stupid. They don’t make you fight on the first night.”

  “I’ll pass on getting punched in the head,” Kyle said. “I got invited to a party.”

  “Oh,” James said. “Thanks for inviting me.”

  “It’s Ringo Moore and his mates,” Kyle said. “Year Ten and Eleven kids. They won’t want the likes of you biting their ankles.”

  “I’m meeting April at the youth club,” Nicole said. “The boxing gym is upstairs.”

  “So, Kerry,” James said, breaking into a grin. “I’m going out with Junior Moore tonight. Kyle’s partying with Ringo Moore and Nicole’s at the youth club with April Moore. What are you and Erin Moore doing?”

  “Ha-ha, very funny,” Kerry said miserably. “Erin is the biggest geek. There’s this student Spanish teacher.”

  “Miss Perez,” James said. “I’ve got her as well.”

  “That’s her,” Kerry said. “Erin and her little friends wound her up so much, they made her run out of the classroom in tears. I felt really sorry for her.”

  “Yeah,” James giggled. “Perez is always crying. My class had her bawling three times on one lesson. It was soooo funny.”

  Kerry looked mad. “James, that’s horrible. How must that poor woman feel?”

  James shrugged. “Who cares? She’s only a teacher.”

  “You know what, James?” Kerry snapped. “Teachers have feelings the same as anyone else.”

  “Whatever,” James said. “I know you’re only angry because you can’t get on with Erin and you’ll probably get your botty kicked off this mission.”

  “Oh, shut up, James,” Kerry shouted, putting her palm in front of her face. “I spend all day stuck in a class with a bunch of stupid, noisy morons. I don’t want to come home and deal with another.”

  “Touchy, touchy.” James giggled.

  Kyle gave James a nudge. “Leave it out, eh?”

  James realized he’d overdone it. He was getting a filthy look off Nicole as well.

  “Sorry, Kerry,” James said. “But you were taking the mickey out of me going boxing just a second ago.”

  Kerry didn’t answer. She just scowled into the bottom of her empty Coke can.

  “You don’t have to sit here all night watching telly, Kerry,” Nicole said. “You can come to the youth center with me if you want.”

  “I don’t want your pity, Nicole,” Kerry said tersely. “Our mission briefing says if you can’t get on with your target, you should try and get involved in KMG through another kid. So, for your information, I won’t be sitting in front of the TV. I’ll be at the youth center with someone tonight, the same as Nicole and Mohammed Ali over there.”

  Kerry got off the sofa and stomped up to her room. Kyle reached over and punched James’s shoulder.

  “What the hell was that for?” James asked, furiously.

  “Being an insensitive pig,” Kyle said. “You know what a big deal Kerry makes about being the best at everything.”

  “Jesus,” James said, rubbing his arm. “I was only having a laugh. It’s not my fault she’s so touchy.”

  “Go up and apologize,” Kyle said.

  “I better not,” James said. “She probably wants to be on her own.”

  James noticed the look he was getting off Nicole.

  “OK then,” James huffed, standing up. “I’ll go and say sorry.”

  James went upstairs. Kerry and Nicole’s room was at the end of the corridor. As James got closer, he started to bottle it. Kerry had a violent temper and he didn’t want to get on the wrong end of it. For the first time ever, James was happy to hear Joshua crying. He leaned into Ewart and Zara’s room, making sure they weren’t in there, then walked over to the cot and picked the baby up. Joshua rested his head on James’s shoulder and changed his bawling to a gentler sucking kind of noise.

  “Come on,” James said, rocking Joshua gently. “Let’s find Mummy.”

  He went down to the kitchen. Ewart was at the table.

  “Cheers for picking him up, James,” Ewart said. “Zara’s just gone down the shop for some bread.”

  “Get his bottle warmed up,” James said. “I’ll take him into the living room. He likes watching the telly.”

  Ewart smiled at James. “Joshua still won’t let Kyle or the girls go near him. You know why I think he likes you?”

  James shrugged. “Why?”

  “You’ve got blond hair, the same as me and Zara.”

  “Maybe,” James said.

  He carried Joshua through and sat next to Nicole on the sofa.

  “Look who’s here,” Nicole said, grinning and wiggling Joshua’s big toe.

  Since he’d been on the mission, James had learned something about girls: if you want them to like you, don’t worry about buying them gifts, or saying the right thing, or where you take them. What you need to do is grab the nearest brat and stick it on your lap. Nicole, who’d been furious at James a few minutes earlier, shuffled up close to him on the couch.

  “You know, James,” Nicole beamed, “someday you’re gonna make a really good dad.”

  • • •

  The stairs leading up to the boxing club had signed photos and newspaper cuttings of boxers James had never heard of on the walls. The door at the top of the stairs creaked and James got a nose full of thirty-degree heat and old sweat. About twenty guys were working out. Dark patches on their clothes, lifting weights, punching bags. James felt awkward, imagining they were all sizing him up, estimating how many milliseconds it would take to punch him out.

  A massive guy stopped a set of crunches and started mopping his bald head with a towel.

  “New fish?” he asked, looking at James.

  James nodded. “I um . . .”

  The guy pointed his thumb. “You want the back room, with the other kids. Try not to tread on anyone.”

  James had to step over gym mats and barbells to get through. The back room was bigger, with twenty-odd boys aged between nine and fourteen working out. Two young coaches stood in a ring up the back, mucking about and taking punches off some little kids. James recognized Junior, Del, and a couple of guys he’d seen around Thornton and at school.

  “You Junior’s new pal?” a voice asked from behind.

  James turned. The guy sat in a plastic chair. He wore tracksuit bottoms and a stained vest. His shoulders were a mat of wiry gray hair. Even though the guy was thirty years past his prime, he still didn’t look like a man you wanted to mess with.

  “I’m Ken,” the guy growled. “If you’re here for the night, it’s fifty pence.”

  “Junior said it’s cheaper if I get a monthly ticket,” James said.

  “Fifty pence for tonight,” Ken said. “I don’t want to rob you. This is too much like hard work for most kids. They don’t come through that door more than once or twice. If you’re one of the ones who sticks it, I’ll take what you’ve already paid off the monthly pass.”

  James nodded and dug some coins out of his shorts.

  “Go see your friend Junior and try to follow what he does,” Ken said. “You’re here to train. That means you don’t stand around talking. You don’t mess around and you don’t make jokes. Any kid starts a fight without my say so and I’ll give the nod to someone who’ll make them sorry. You got that?”

  James nodded. “Don’t I get coaching or something?”

  Ken laughed. “I sit here with my eyes open. Give it a week or so. Follow what the others do. When I think you’re ready, I’ll get one of the trainees to start you off with a little sparring.”

  James wandered over to Junior.r />
  “Enjoy the lecture?” Junior asked, grinning.

  Junior, Del, and a couple of other guys trained in a group. Everything was a competition: how many push-ups or crunches, how fast you could skip, how many times you could punch the hanging ball in thirty seconds. CHERUB training had made James fit. He could hold his own at everything except skipping, which he’d only ever tried in PE lessons years earlier. Everyone except James got a turn in the ring, either sparring with each other or getting coached by Kelvin and Marcus, the two brutal-looking seventeen-year-olds the club employed as apprentice coaches.

  When they were all half-dead, the group piled into the locker room, showered off the sweat, and put on fresh clothes. On their way out, Ken blocked James’s way with his leg.

  “You coming back?” Ken asked.

  “I’d like to,” James nodded, still out of breath. “If that’s OK.”

  “You’ve done some kind of martial arts training, haven’t you?”

  “Yeah, karate and judo. How could you tell?”

  “You’re in good shape and you can punch,” Ken said, “but a boxer needs fast feet as well. You want to be able to skip a hundred and fifty times a minute. Take this home and practice half an hour a day.”

  James took the end of a frayed skipping rope. He stuck it in his carrier bag, on top of his damp clothes.

  Junior slapped him on the back as they went down the staircase.

  “He must think you’ve got talent, James. I kept coming here for three weeks before he said a word and my dad practically owns the joint.”

  James couldn’t help smiling, though it was hardly surprising he showed promise after all the combat training he’d done at CHERUB.

  “You coming down the youth club with me and Del?” Junior asked. “It’s packed out with girls, Friday night.”

  The youth club was on the ground floor, under the gym. It was supposed to be a disco, but the music wasn’t very loud and nobody was dancing. James sat with Junior and Del on some slashed-up seats in a dark corner. There were plenty of boys and plenty of girls, but everyone sat in single-sex groups.